


Follow your voice home...

by V_Buttons_P



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: But we still love him anyway, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, If You Squint - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mind Palace Mycroft is a bit of a jerk, Sherlock's Heart, Sherlock's Mind Palace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 15:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4441988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_Buttons_P/pseuds/V_Buttons_P
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had asked him repeatedly to phone Lestrade, let the police round up the members of the gang they’d been following. He hadn’t listened and instead charged into their hideout without a thought of the danger that might await them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow your voice home...

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I've been sitting on this one a while and finally decided that if I didn't post it now, I never would. I changed some things since my wonderful Beta's last edit, so any and all mistakes are solely mine. Let me know if you spot any.
> 
> The idea for this popped into my head while listening to "Break In" by Halestorm. It's loosely based on some of the lyrics, listen for yourself here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qfFOzQVKuMs

 

With a groan, Sherlock pushes himself to sitting, his hand instantly going to cradle his head. The pain pounding through it keeps his eyes sealed as he tries to remember what happened.

_****_

_John had asked him repeatedly to phone Lestrade, let the police round up the members of the gang they’d been following. He hadn’t listened and instead charged into their hideout without a thought of the danger that might await them._

_It all happened so fast. Somehow they knew that Sherlock and John were coming, had been waiting for them. There was a tussle, something that Sherlock was certain they would be able to handle. One managed to land a right hook to Sherlock’s jaw, causing him to spin to try to lessen some of the blow. That’s when he saw it. The leader of their little band had pulled out a gun--A gun! There’s always something--and was aiming it right at the back of John’s head. Sherlock’s eyes had widened as he pulled in a breath to shout a warning to John, fear coursing violently through him. Because the probability of him missing at that distance was… was…_

_But he’d been too slow. He was hit from the side and knocked to the ground when he heard the gun fire. And the last thing he saw before something struck the back of his head hard was John falling towards the cold, unforgiving floor…_

_*****_

Sherlock forces his eyes open, instantly regretting the decision as the light pierces his brain and makes him groan again. He struggles to find his feet, the walls pulsing in time with the pain throbbing through his head, and contemplates the possibility that his head would hurt less if he detached it from his body.

‘Ever the dramatic one, brother mine.’

Letting out a huff that’s a mix of frustration and pain, Sherlock turns to glare at his brother.

‘Why are  _you_  here, Mycroft?’

‘I believe we both know why I’m here, Sherlock.’ His gaze slides to the door on Sherlock’s left, his voice reproachful. ‘I warned you that caring is not an advantage.’

‘Not this again. I have already told you Mycroft--’

‘Indeed you have… And yet, here we are. What does that tell us?’

‘That you are incapable of keeping your oversized nose out of my business?’ The sarcasm is heavy in Sherlock’s voice even though he knows that Mycroft will see through it to his unease. ‘Where are we?’

‘You don’t know?’ Good Lord, even here he’s a completely insufferable know-it-all. ‘I suppose it has been years since you’ve been here…’

‘You know I loathe repeating myself, Mycroft.’

‘I’m afraid opening it is the only way you’ll get your answer.’

Grumbling, Sherlock crosses to the door, his hand hovering over the knob. The lack of comment from Mycroft on the slight tremble of his hand speaks volumes about what he’ll find on the other side.

Slowly he pulls the door open, only to be greeted with the sight of a green, rolling field that is filled with wildflowers. Sherlock’s breath stalls in his throat and his eyes widen as a bark of joy announces the approach of someone he thought long gone. His voice is little more than a whisper as he drops to a knee to greet his friend.

‘Redbeard.’

‘Yes, Redbeard. He’s been here since that day, you know. Locked behind the door you swore to yourself you would do anything to avoid having to open again… And yet…’

‘ ** _Sherlock? Can you hear me?’_**

Sherlock spins around on his knee, his eyes instantly locking on the dark blue of John’s. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, Mycroft’s words finally starting to take on meaning. Denial is not just a river in Egypt after all.

‘No… No, John, you can’t be here.’

‘Where else would I be?  ** _I won’t leave your side._** ’

‘But not  _here_.’

John cocks his head to the side, studying his kneeling friend. There is something in the way he smiles, as if he knows something Sherlock does not.

‘Then let’s go somewhere else. There are a lot of rooms to explore here and we have the time.’

‘Yes, yes-let’s--’ Sherlock swallows again around the lump as he awkwardly clambers to his feet. The need to grab John and hide him away in the furthest room from this dreadful place is nearly overwhelming. ‘Let’s explore all of the rooms, together. Off we go!’

As Sherlock all but drags John away, he hears Mycroft sighing behind him. ‘All lives end. All hearts are broken… Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.’

****

‘Come along, John! There are still more rooms on this floor we’ve not explored!’

‘Sherlock, slow down before you pull my arm from its socket.’

Sherlock is pulling John from room to room, exploring parts of him Mind Palace he’d nearly forgotten, for what feels like days. And for all Sherlock knows, it has been days. He’s never been very good about keeping time while here. Something John use to get on him about  _Before_. But he can’t let them go back to that room. Not knowing what will happen when they do. So he insists on showing John every nook and cranky of his Mind Palace. It’s desperate and a sad attempt at stalling but Sherlock will take what he can get.

‘Nonsense, John, I’m not exerting nearly enough force to pull your arm from its socket.’

‘ ** _Open your eyes, Sherlock, please.’_**

There it is again: that strange urgency in John’s voice. It’s been appearing more and more often as they venture from room to room.

‘What are you on about? My eyes are open, John.’

‘ ** _Come back, Sherlock._** ’

Sherlock’s steps falter to a halt, his hand suddenly grasping at air. He turns to face John, his confusion bubbling up.  _Wasn’t he just holding tightly onto John’s arm? When did he move so far away from him?_

‘John…?’

‘Come on,  ** _let’s go back to Baker Street.’_**

Something wraps tightly around Sherlock’s chest and squeezes hard. He takes one unsteady step closer to John, his hand reaching for him.

‘We can’t, John. I’m sorry.’

‘Why not?’

Sherlock shakes his head, his hand falling to his side and clenching as his throat threatens to close on him. ‘Because I can’t leave here.’

John tilts his head quizzically. ‘Why not?’

‘The door… I won’t… I  _can’t._ ’

‘You’ll have to-- ** _wake up--_**  at some point. We can’t stay here forever.’

Sherlock peeks over at John from under his fringe. ‘The exit is gone.’

‘Gone? What do you mean, “Gone”?’

‘I…. might have deleted… the exit.’

‘You…? You did WHAT?’

‘Deleted it. As of right now, there’s no way to leave.’

John gapes at him. His expression would be comical if Sherlock were in a mood to find anything amusing anymore.

‘Bit Not Good, Sherlock.  ** _Please_** , tell me you at least have a way to bring it back.’

‘Of course, I simply need to create another exit.’

‘So why don’t you?’

His voice is petulant, even to his own ears. Distantly, he hears a whisper of Mycroft’s voice. ‘ _You’re only delaying the inevitable.’_

‘We’re not done exploring.’ 

‘There are only two rooms left, Sherlock. I think you know where we need to go.’

‘No, John, I won’t--‘

John vanishes before his eyes. A sudden panic clutches at his heart as he searches for his friend.

‘ ** _Come back to me, Sherlock… Don’t leave me here alone.’_**

‘John…’ Sherlock dashes down the corridor, following the echo of John’s voice even as he knows it’s leading to the only other door he truly doesn’t want to open.

‘ ** _Please, Sherlock…_ ’**

He rounds the corner to spot John standing next to a door bearing an impressive looking lock, his hand gripping the key.

‘We have to open it, Sherlock.’

‘No.’

‘We looked in every other room… It’s time for us to look at this one.’

‘Please… I-I…’

‘It’ll be alright, Sherlock.  ** _I’m right here._** ’

Sloths move faster than Sherlock does, his steps leaden. This door… This  _memory_. He hoped he would never have to view it again, even though he can’t bring himself to delete it.

John takes his hand when he’s close enough and turns to the door. The key slides easily into the lock and with a click he pushes the door open. Together they cross the threshold into the room as it morphs into the grimy warehouse where Sherlock’s world was suddenly thrown off its axis.

John walks over to the memory of himself and the criminals, looking between them and Sherlock, whose feet are firmly rooted to the floor. John circles around the men, his head tilting the way it does when he’s trying to puzzle out how Sherlock reached one of his deductions.

‘Tell me what you see.’

‘You know perfectly well what I see. I see… I see your imminent death.’

‘Wrong. Try again.’

Sherlock’s brow pulls together tightly.  _What is John talking about?_

‘I’m not wrong.’

‘You are. What are you always telling me? “You see, but you do not observe.”  _Observe,_ Sherlock.’

Despite how desperately Sherlock wants to flee the room, he steps closer and lets his eyes examine the memory. His heart is pounding wildly in his chest, his breaths uneven and shallow as he takes it all in. The gun, John’s form falling-- _Falling? No, no wait… John’s knees are bent wrong for him to be falling. The only reason for them to look like that... He’s ducking…_ \--the leader’s shocked face. Sherlock immediately replays the gunshot, the direction of the sound wrong for it to have come from him and suddenly Sherlock’s mouth opens as he utters a quiet ‘oh’. His eyes are wide as he sweeps through the scene again, seeing everything he missed before.

‘You weren’t shot in the back of the head.’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘The shot was fired by someone near the door that exits to the street.’

‘Yes.’

‘As I said, caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.’

Sherlock turns to face his brother, furious at the condescension in his voice. ‘Mycroft! Why didn’t you say--!‘

‘Because, brother mine, you would not have listened to me. You allowed your heart to rule your head and nothing I said would have convinced you. John, however…’

‘ ** _Sherlock, wake up… Please…’_**

‘Only a fool argues with his doctor. It’s time, Sherlock.’

‘ ** _Come on, Sherlock… I know you can hear me… Please, just open your eyes…’_**

Sherlock watches John cross back to him, his hand slipping into Sherlock’s as he offers him one of his crooked smiles. Something about his grip seems different, warmer. With a nod, Sherlock closes his eyes, focusing on the feel of John’s hand in his and the sound of his voice, using them to help him restore the door he deleted.

****

When Sherlock opens his eyes again, it’s to blinding fluorescent lights that are much desired for their use in hospital rooms: something about the brightness of them helping the patients or some such drivel. Sherlock vows to find and strangle the idiot who created them.

Once he’s certain that his retinas are not, in fact, burning, he moves his eyes about the room. They stop when they reach the spiked, unkempt hair on the head of a currently unconscious army doctor. John is seated in a terribly uncomfortable looking chair, his head resting by Sherlock’s hip on the bed. His hand is firmly wrapped around Sherlock’s, as if afraid to let go of him even in his slumber.

His voice, when he finally finds the strength to speak, comes out as a harsh croak. ‘Jo-John?’

A small smile steals across Sherlock’s face as he watches the addressee stir from his uncomfortable slumber, the hand holding his twitching as consciousness returns. It takes John two weary blinks before he registers what woke him, his head snapping up to lock gazes with Sherlock. The smile that spreads across John’s face is bright enough to light all of London, and Sherlock knows that he will store this memory somewhere special and visit it frequently.

‘You’re awake…’

‘Yes, John.’

 John looks down at their joined hands, his expression turning sheepish as he starts to draw his away.  

‘I kept… I kept asking you to… to come back… Come back to me.’

Sherlock quickly tightens his grip on the retreating hand, smiling warmly at the man whose voice was able to guide him home.

‘I heard you, John… I heard you.’


End file.
